Where The Sidewalk Ends
by simplyleah
Summary: Edward and Bella are happily married, expecting their first child, and living their lives. That is, until Bella is kidnapped. AH. Rated M for dark themes.
1. Prologue

**Rated M for dark themes. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, nor am I Stephanie Meyer. I do own my plot and any characters that are not from the original novel. I don't own the quotes that will be at the beginning of each chapter; they are mostly from a poem called "Where the Sidewalk Ends" by Shel Silverstein, and if not, I will say so.**

* * *

**Prologue**

The hand over my mouth tastes like dirt, and the warm liquid on my face feels like blood. My hands, tied behind my back, ache and scratch. He's pulling my hair with his free hand, with the one that isn't grasping my face hard enough to make me wince.

His smell is unfamiliar—gasoline, maybe cigarettes. What I can see of his hand is disturbing—untrimmed nails rimmed in black, every crevice in his skin made visible by something dark and greasy.

I begin to panic. Where am I? It's too dark to tell. Inside, somewhere. Where?

His breath his heavy in my ears. Hot. Smelly. I squeeze my eyes shut. Where am I?

My heart races. I bite the inside of his hand, but he doesn't move. He tightens his grip on my hair, and I whimper. Where am I?

The baby moves in my belly, sensing my distress. The baby! Oh, god. The baby! My heart skips a beat. My breath hitches. I start to sob. I try to kick him, somewhere, anywhere, but my legs are stuck under something. Am I sitting? My lower body is numb. I wonder how long I've been sitting like this, in this position.

I try and elbow him, but my arms feel like jelly. I try and scream, but he only pulls my hair harder. His nails dig into my cheek. Where am I?

The baby moves again. I try and calm down, but I can't. Where am I?

A thousand things run through my mind. Edward. The baby. Where am I? Charlie. Who is this man? _The baby._ How did I get here? _The baby!_

And then I hear his voice, low and gravelly. Something from a horror film.

"You're mine now."

* * *

**Review! First chapter to come soon. **


	2. Chapter 1

**"There is a place where the sidewalk ends, and before the street begins . . ."**

**Chapter 1 - Edward**

The sound of staplers stapling and fingers doing finger-like things—such as typing, and clicking, and pushing, and scribbling—and papers being put where papers belong, and questions being shouted across the room, and phones being answered and hung up and ignored, and idle chatter being made, and air whirring through the vent above my desk, and the computers starting and restarting, and overheating and cooling down—well, it all gets overwhelming.

I have to leave every hour. I get up from my creaky desk chair, log off my computer. Trudge up the stairs to the roof. Take the pack of cigarettes from my pocket. Take out a cigarette. Put it in my mouth.

And then I put it back. The pack goes into my pocket. I stumble down the stairs. I log onto the computer, sit down in my chair. I get back to work.

The normality that my life seems to have taken on is disturbing. The mundane nature of it. The stunningly dull routine that is nearly numbing enough on its own. That is, until I walk out the office door, which I do at precisely six o'clock every single day.

The desk work isn't fun, and it doesn't feel particularly rewarding, but supposedly I'm doing something good since I'm an accountant for a relatively eco-friendly company.

The drive home is quiet, aside from the whistling sound that the a/c makes and the buzz of a blank tape filling the air. The radio broke last year.

I hesitate before pulling in the driveway—every day, I can't help it. I wait for some sign of movement in the windows. I look for the garden shoes left by the side door, a window left open, the desk light turned on. Nothing.

I pull into the driveway.

The house is on a nice street, with nice people and nice houses, mowed lawns and well-groomed trees. We both went to UW in Seattle, but moved to my hometown after graduation.

I go inside the house, and the silence that greets me makes my heart ache. The rabbits—the stupid rabbits, her rabbits—are waiting in the living room, on the wicker table she painted blue. They look up at me a moment, Peter's left ear raising, listening. They look away.

I head into the kitchen where the yellow cabinets with their bright colored knobs make my chest tighten, and I listen to the voicemail on the answering machine. It's my mom.

"Hi, sweetie, this is your mother . . . I know you're busy with work, but your father and I would love to have you for dinner sometime this week. Give me a call back. Love you!"

I delete the message.

Dinner. I can't remember the last time I ate dinner. Oh—it was the last time I went back to my childhood home, two weeks earlier.

I make a mental note to have some dinner sometime this month. I untie my tie and hang it over the chair in the kitchen. The house phone rings, and I glance at the screen. It's Charlie.

I let it go to voicemail.

My father-in-law's voice fills the room. "Hey, son." He pauses, clears his throat. "I'll be headin' down from Bellevue this weekend." Pause. "I'm sorry it's been so long since I've come down. I spoke to your mother, and she said she'll throw together some dinner plans with all of us. You, me, your parents, and the boys." Deep breath. "Hope you're doin' alright. I'll probably get there noon on Friday. I'll give you a call later."

I sigh. Oh, Charlie.

Peter scampers into the room, Pancake not far behind, and I watch them with frowns. They look up at me. Sit back on their haunches. "What do you want?"

Their ears twitch towards me, in the direction of my voice, before hopping on over to their makeshift sleep area, made up of a small dog bed and some dog pillows.

I sigh again.

"Hey, Eddy!"

I look out the window that faces the front lawn. Emmett is coming up the walkway.

I sigh and head to open the door.

He smiles at me when he reaches the porch. "Hey, little bro. I saw you get home, thought I'd come by. Mom said Charlie's coming in town this weekend." Emmett lives across the street, two houses over. He's a stay at home dad, and he spies on me. I swear he does.

I nod. "He just called."

Emmett nods a few times, squinting into the house behind me. "Yeah. She said we'll have dinner at their place on Friday."

I shrug, but my chest aches. Friday. Maybe he doesn't remember, but I do. Charlie does.

Emmett squeezes my shoulder and asks, "How you holdin' up?" But then again, maybe he does remember.

I scratch my forehead, furrow my brow. "Good, you know. The rabbits tore apart the kitchen last night, but otherwise I'm good."

He raises his eyebrows, and I see the question. Why do I still have the goddamn rabbits?

Because they were hers. They were hers, and she loved them.

"Alright, well," he says. "I wanted to come by and say hey. You haven't been over in a while. The kids miss their uncle."

I frown. "Tell them I'll see them at dinner on Friday. I'll bring them something."

Emmett grins. "They'll be so glad to see you." He musses my hair. "Friday, alright? Mom misses you."

I look over his shoulder. "It's been two weeks."

He presses his lips together. "Yeah, well. We'll see you on Friday, alright? Have a good week, bro. Rose told me to tell you she said hi."

"Tell her I say hi, too. See you on Friday."

"Don't forget, bro! Friday!" He starts to walk away.

How could I forget?

Therese Fowler, someone I read about somewhere, said something about profound moments. That's all I remember about what she said, but it crosses my mind sometimes. Profundity. Lives are made up of profound moments. My life is made up of profoundly wonderful moments that have all been tainted by one profoundly terrible moment.

For example, my birthday. Ordinarily profound, at least until it became the day that she adopted the rabbits, and therefore their makeshift birthday as well. Christmas—profound for obvious reasons. The day that we met. The day I proposed. Our wedding. The day we found out we were expecting. All wonderful things. All incredible.

Now, all ruined.

This Friday. May 17th.

It's funny how much can change in one day.

* * *

**This chapter is a bit slow, I know. Don't give up on me just yet! **


	3. Chapter 2

**"There the sun burns crimson bright . . . there the moon-bird rests from his flight . . ."**

**Chapter 2 – Edward **

It was raining the day she disappeared.

Nothing unusual, of course, for Washington. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that it changed my entire life.

It was almost three years ago. We'd moved to Forks, my hometown, a few months earlier. She got a job working on the reservation an hour away. I got a job as an accountant.

She loved to run, especially in the rain. Even after we found out she was pregnant. The doctor said that since she'd been a strong runner all of her life, running wasn't a problem during pregnancy. In fact, it would help keep her body healthy, help her stay in shape.

I was at work. It was her day off—she only worked four days a week—and she sent me a text saying she was going for a run. It wasn't a question, she was telling me. I decided not to push it. I sent back a smiley face, told her to have a nice jog. She sent me a heart back. It made me smile.

When I got home four hours later, she wasn't there. I called her cell phone—it went straight to voicemail. I called my brother; sometimes, she paid him visits in the afternoon instead of staying home alone while I was at work.

He said he hadn't heard from her since yesterday.

I called my mom. She had no idea where my wife was, either.

I called her friend, Angela. Same response.

Then I began to panic.

I waited an hour. When she still didn't come home, I called the police.

They said there was nothing they could do. A person isn't considered missing unless they've been gone for twenty three hours. She'd only been gone for five.

I called Charlie.

"What do you mean, she didn't come home?" he asked. Panic. It was all I felt. It was what he was feeling, too.

"She went on a run, and she never came home. I was at work. Her sneakers aren't here. She's not home. She never came home. The police say—they say they can't do anything about it, not until it's been twenty four hours."

"My pregnant daughter, my twenty one year old daughter, is missing?" I could hear his quick breathing through the phone. My father-in-law, an ex-cop, was losing it. I was losing it.

He showed up on my front porch two hours later carrying flashlights. He handed me one. We followed her normal running trail in silence. Went a few feet into the woods, found nothing. Shouted her name, nothing.

We didn't find her.

Charlie called the police himself. They said they couldn't help us, not until it had been twenty three hours. I thought Charlie was going to put his fist through the living room wall.

The next day, they said they could do something.

But it was too late.

She was already gone.

And now this is my life. I wake up. I stare at my feet to avoid looking at the photos that cover the walls. I feed the rabbits. I tell them nice things, because I know they need to hear them. I go to work. I work. I come home. I try to sleep, but normally can't. And then it restarts.

It's been almost three years. Three years since I heard my wife's laughter, saw her smile. Three years since I knew, without doubt, that I was the luckiest man alive. Three years since I felt my unborn child kick. Three years since I knew I had a family. Three years.

The rabbits still wait in the living room for her—before bed, she would always take them with her onto the couch, feed them fresh greens, give them kisses. They watch me walk into the bedroom, shut the door, turn out the lights. They're still there when I wake up in the morning.

I tell her things throughout the day. It's pitiful, but it makes me feel better.

_The rabbits are chewing the sofa legs. You'd be so angry if you saw._

_I haven't smoked a cigarette since I quit in college. I bought a pack the day after you went missing, and I still have that pack. _

_I miss you more than usual today. It's one of those days._

I can't let myself imagine where she is. If she is anywhere at all. If I have a child somewhere, out there. A child with my wife's eyes and smile.

No matter how hard I try, I can't help it.

That's why I can't sleep.

_I forgot to shut the bedroom door last night, honey. The rabbits were in bed with me when I woke up. I smiled, really smiled, for the first time in weeks._

I don't have dinner because I don't know how to cook dinner foods. All I know how to make is breakfast. She would make dinner, I would make breakfast. That was always how it was.

_I fixed the paint chip in the hallway. It's been three years since I heard you complain about it. _

I wonder if I had a son. Or did I have a daughter?

I wonder if I'll ever know.

_On days when I almost feel okay, my eyes are more drawn to the photos around the bedroom. I don't know what it is, why I torture myself. It's only on the days that I can hardly get out of bed that I can manage to get out of the room before my eyes begin to wander._

She designed the house herself. When we bought it, it hadn't been redone in over twenty years. All of the rooms have different colored walls. The wooden floor is dark. The furniture is all from antique and resale shops. The kitchen cabinets, which she painted yellow, all have mismatched knobs. The living room sofa is covered by a quilt that she made of old shirts. Our bed doesn't have a frame; instead, it's a mattress on stacked wooden boxes. She filled mason jars with decorations for every holiday. Ones with fake snow and little green trees. Ones with cupid and hearts. They're all in the garage. We both had our own birthday banners, which she decorated herself. And the baby—the baby's room is only half finished. Only two of the walls painted. Only half of the furniture bought. A door that hasn't been opened in three years. A room in which my three year old son our daughter should be living.

A room that only gave me nightmares.

_I almost went into the baby's room today, my love. I didn't even realize what I was doing, but as soon as my hand was on the knob, I started to cry. I miss you. _

The rabbits brought me some solace—their little faces remind me of her, and the way that she'd rub her nose on theirs, and give them kisses. The way that they used to lick her cheeks.

They still run around the house doing their happy dances, but I know they miss her, too.

* * *

**All rabbits have happy dances, also known as "binkies". If you google it, I'm sure you'll find some videos. It's absolutely hilarious. **


	4. Chapter 3

**"To possess such a key is to tumble like Alice down her rabbit hole. She didn't choose to go to Wonderland - but she made of it an adventure that was fresh and fantastic and very much her own."**

**~ Susan Cain**

**Chapter 3 – Bella**

**_Three years earlier_**

When he realizes that I'm pregnant, he tells me that he's going to kill the baby. The baby kicks every time he says it—somehow, the baby knows.

He says it in such an offhanded way that I feel nauseous.

"I'm going to kill it," he says, with a casual smile.

And then he says it again.

After a few weeks, he tells me that he won't kill the baby.

On one condition.

I agree immediately. I would do anything. Now I have to.

He asks me what my due date is.

July 3rd, I tell him.

He says okay. He thinks he can wait until then.

I pray that this baby is born late.

Days pass. Weeks pass.

I haven't seen the sun in months.

My stomach gets bigger every day, and I feel progressively worse.

I wonder if Edward thinks I'm dead.

I miss him so much.

The baby kicks often. My kidnapper stays true to his promise, although he becomes more frustrated every day. He throws things. He screams at me. It makes the baby upset.

I spend my time thinking about names.

I like the name Olivia. I think Edward would like it, too.

I pray that this baby isn't a girl.

I pray every night before I go to sleep, every day when I wake up. I pray for an Edward Junior, a Mason Anthony, a Mason Charles. Mason is Edward's mom's maiden name. I think his mom would like it.

But as July 3rd looms over my head, as my feet get so swollen I can hardly move, as my back aches for my husband's comforting hands . . . I begin to worry.

I worry about my promise made to my captor. A promise that my unborn child's life relies on. A promise that makes me sick to my stomach.

I wonder about Edward. I dream about him. Missing him very nearly consumes me. I miss our little white house with the green shutters and the yellow door. I miss my bunnies. I miss my job. I miss the sound of the rain. Wherever I am now, I don't hear very much of it. I miss Charlie, and my mother-in-law. I miss Emmett.

July 3rd comes too soon. He tells me when it's the week of—I lost count. My belly is huge.

I cry when I feel my first contraction, a day before my due date. Edward should be here. Where is Edward? My heart aches as much as my abdomen does.

My captor says he knows how to deliver a baby. The thought of my baby, Edward's baby, in his arms . . . it makes me sick. I try to stop the baby from coming, but I remember reading somewhere that it's bad for the baby, so I let it go.

I'm in labor for an entire day. Maybe longer, maybe shorter. I'm not really certain. Towards the end, I'm almost delusional. I don't remember much.

I do remember the baby's first cries. I remember my first glance of the shocking copper hair, the same color as Edward's. My heart stops. Is it a boy? Is it a girl?

I never speak directly to my captor, and now is not the time to start, with my baby in his arms. But I need to know. I want to ask, but my tongue is caught in my throat.

He cuts the cord, and takes the baby away. He says he's going to clean _it _up. I scream. He tied my hands to the bed, and I pull as hard as I can. What if he never comes back with my baby? What if I never see my own child's face?

I scream and scream and scream. I don't know how long it takes for him to come back, but the relief that I feel when he walks back down the stairs to the basement where he keeps me carrying a bundle of blankets—oh, I almost die of relief.

"Please give me my baby," I beg softly. "Please. Please." But my hands are still tied, and I can't even reach out. I sob. "Please untie my hands. Please." I yank and I tug until I can't tug anymore. He sits in a chair in the corner of the basement, holding my baby. My baby. My crying baby.

I scream and scream and scream.

He takes the baby and leaves.

I'm in hysterics. I need my baby. I _need _my baby.

Oh, god. What if he hurts the baby?

I'm exhausted. I feel on the brink of passing out. But I can't, I can't. _I need my baby._

He keeps the baby from me for days. I know that he or she is alive, because I can hear him cooing and his or her cries. I don't know how much longer I can stand it. He's only been downstairs once, and that was just to take away all of the dirty, bloodied sheets.

I need my baby.

I need Edward. I need to feel safe. _I need him. _

_Oh, god. Edward, where are you? You're a daddy. Wherever you are, wherever I am, you're a daddy. I miss you so much. _

I scream every so often. I don't want to make him angry. I just want him to come downstairs. With the baby. I cry and I beg and I plead. I get no response.

_He has our baby, Edward. I don't know what to do. What do I do? I never got to breast feed our baby. I never even saw the baby's face. _

I can't sleep. He doesn't bring me any food, so I don't eat. He doesn't bring me any water, so I don't drink. The baby is all I can think about.

Finally, he comes downstairs. I can hear the baby crying somewhere, and it breaks my heart. How long has it been? A week?

He's carrying a glass of water, which he sets down on the floor next to the mattress. He unties my hands and gestures to the water. I eye it thirstily, but don't take it.

"I need my baby," I whisper. "Can I please have my baby?"

He watches me closely, his beady eyes making me nervous. "Do you remember what you promised me?"

I nod. "Yes. I agreed to your terms," I mumble. "Can I please have my baby?"

He looks at me. "You promise?"

"Y-yes."

"And you know what the consequences are if you don't keep your promise."

_He'll kill our baby._

"Y-yes, I do."

He nods. "I'm giving you four weeks. Until then, the baby is mine."

My heart stops. _Four weeks. _I can't see my baby for four weeks. His words make me shiver. _Mine. _His first words to me. _You're mine._

Tears fall from my eyes. I can't argue with him. I can't. I nod slowly but stay quiet. He hands me the glass of water and then turns to leave.

He keeps a calendar on the wall, perhaps to mock me. Each day, he crosses off another box. I watch him do it. When he crosses off September 13th, I silently make a birthday wish.

Pretty soon there's one day left. One day left until I have my baby. One day until I have to act on my promise. But I can't think about that. All I can think about is the baby.

Is it an Olivia? Or a Mason?

I need to know.

Not knowing is killing me.

Does he have ten fingers and ten toes? Does he look like his daddy? Does he look like me? Is he being fed? Changed?

_I miss you so much, Edward. I don't know how much longer I can go on without you._

When I was younger, I'd always dreamt of meeting someone. Prince charming, I guess. Falling in love.

Nothing I'd dreamt up could have lived up to the real thing.

Edward wasn't perfect, but neither is love. When I fell in love with him, I fell in love with all of him. I'd followed the white rabbit of love down the rabbit hole—and I'd never resurfaced.

We met in college, in Seattle. We were the same year at UW, but with completely different areas of study. We met at my favorite coffee shop in the U district, a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. The place that you'd never find if you didn't already know it was there.

I was drinking a toddy. It was finals week, and caffeine is possibly the only reason why I made it through college.

I liked to sit by the counter; listening to people rattle off their strange orders was a good distraction from the fact that if I didn't pass my Anthropology final I wouldn't pass the class.

When I finished my toddy, I was only halfway finished with my review, so I popped back on up to the counter to order a new drink.

And there he was.

It wasn't like I saw fireworks. It wasn't like I quite literally _fell in love at first sight. _But it was the closest thing to it. There was something in his face. Something in his eyes, the way that they seemed to be laughing. Not at me, but with me. Or something like that.

I said, "I need a triple."

And then he smiled, and that was when I fell in love. "A triple what?" he asked.

"A triple anything."

He leaned forward. "I'd like to be your therapist for the afternoon. Something wrong?"

I raised an eyebrow and shake my empty drink cup, the ice clinking against the glass. "I finished my toddy."

"_Oh, _we've got ourselves a toddy drinker!"

I stared at him, trying to hide my absolute shock at the casual conversation I was being forced into making with a complete stranger. I wasn't anti-social, not exactly. Just something close to it.

"I'm going to rattle off a few things. Tell me the _first thing_—yes, the first thing—that comes to mind."

I sighed. "Shoot."

"Milk?"

"Soy."

"Caffeine."

"Ten."

"Flavor."

"Cinnamon."

"Sweet."

"Five."

"Hot chocolate."

"Yes."

He looked at me and nodded. "So, I'll surprise you. A large, alright?" He snatched my card from where it's dangling in between my fingers and ran it through the machine.

"Wait—what? I'm sorry. Did you just—"

He handed me back my card. "You'll like it, I swear. If you don't like it, you don't have to go out with me tonight."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. "_What?_"

He started making my drink and glanced at me over his shoulder. "I'm off at seven. There's a great Italian place down the street."

"I don't—"

"You like Italian food, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess—"

"So it's settled. If you don't like the drink, you don't have to. No obligation." He shrugged. "No worries."

If you hadn't guessed, I liked the drink.


	5. Chapter 4

**"Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name."**

**~ The Avett Brothers, 'Murder in the City'**

**Chapter 4 – Bella  
****_Three years earlier _**

Somehow, I make it through the day. My memories keep me company, and so do the gnawing hunger pains in my stomach.

I don't think I'll ever stop feeling nauseous.

The baby cries a lot. Too much. The man yells at him to stop. He yells, and yells, and yells. I cry even harder. So does the baby.

My poor baby.

I feel like a horrible mother, and yet I don't feel like a mother at all. I carried the baby for nine months. I loved him—I _do_ love him. But I have never touched him. I have never seen his face.

I think I'm going to vomit. It wouldn't be the first time this month. He feeds me horrible things—cheap snack foods, jerkies, canned meals. Things that travel well and stay well. Things that make me sick. I always thought of the rabbits as my vegan companions; I was no vegan, but I did eat well. Organic, freshly grown, farmers markets. I ate well and I felt well, all of the time.

Now I don't know. I just don't know.

My hair is falling in clumps. I wonder if it's the end of the pregnancy, or something else.

I can only imagine how the baby is feeling.

Now that the day is here, I'm anxious. Nervous. Where is the baby? Why hasn't he brought the baby downstairs? Why?

What if he hurts him anyway?

What if I keep my promise, and he hurts him anyway?

I don't think that the reality of the situation has truly sunk in yet. I was kidnapped, I remind myself. I am living in the basement of a strange man, a strange, dirty man. A man who wears stained wife beaters under pressed shirts tucked into jeans that remind me of my father's. A man who holds not only my life, but the life of my child, in his dirty palms.

_Where are you, Edward?_ _I love you. I miss you. I need you. _

Despite my somewhat introverted nature, I have the eccentric spirit that my father says reminds him of my mother. I changed my major four times in college, eventually settling on a degree in Native American studies and English, a dual major. Why? Who knows. Then I ended up working at a school in La Push, a reservation near Forks, teaching English. I took pottery classes on the weekends, and scrapbooking classes and yoga lessons. I wanted to get a dog for the longest time, but then I met Pancake and Peter at the animal shelter and I couldn't bear to leave them there. We had a bird for a while, but my nephew, Emmett's son, took the obnoxious parakeet off our hands. I painted a mural on our wall in the back garden, planted some sunflowers. When they died, I decided to grow vegetables instead. I gave up on pottery and started an exotic dancing class, which was fun at first and turned out to be a disaster. Essentially, I've been a mess for as long as I can remember.

Not Edward. Edward was a godsend when I first met him, and he always remained one. Whenever I had what my dad still called "tantrums", Edward would simply take my hand and rub my back and shower me with kisses until I calmed down. Then he would head down to the community center and pick up brochures for just about every program that little Forks had to offer, and would sign us up for any class that sounded mildly interesting.

He has this simple way of pressing his fingers just _so _along my neck that can make me feel better any day, a way of knowing what's wrong without asking and coming up with creative ways to fix my problems.

Oh, I love that man.

We were married on July 20th, a little over two years after we met. We were in college, and my dad only slightly disapproved. He liked Edward. The wedding was at Edward's childhood home, where he grew up, where his mom and dad still live.

_I'm sorry I missed our anniversary, my love. I'm sorry I can't be there for you. I miss you more than you'll ever know._

Here in this basement, July 20th came and went with hardly a sound. Last year, he took the day off work, and we went on a hike. Had a picnic. Took a break. Drove an hour a way to see a drive-in movie. He got me a necklace. Right now, I have that necklace tucked into my bra, wrapped around my wedding ring and band. The only place where my captor won't see them.

For now.

He comes downstairs with my daily meal halfway through the day. He looks at me with hunger in his eyes, the sort of hunger that makes me lose any appetite that I ever once had.

Where is the baby?

I eat my food slowly, unsure as to whether or not it's worth eating food I'll only vomit back up later. It's inevitable, I suppose.

He comes back downstairs an hour or so later, watching me closely.

"It's been four weeks," I say quietly.

He stares at me. "What did you just say?"

My eyes go wide. I shake my head. "N-nothing."

He nods. He picks up my plate, brushing his fingers along mine, and turns away. His heavy boots are loud on the concrete stairs. The lock clicks into place behind him.

Where is the baby?

Finally, when it's so late I can hardly keep my eyes open, I hear the door to the basement creak open. The man stumbles down the stairs in his, and the way he's walking leads me to believe he's been drinking. I sit up on the dirty mattress, watching closely.

He sets a crate of some sort next to the bed, with pillows and a blanket inside. _My baby is being treated like a puppy._

"Are ye r . . . ready?" he asks me, the slur in his voice verifying my concern. _He's drunk._

I shut my eyes, clench my fists. He gave me a skirt to wear last time he let me shower, and now I know why. I look away when he pulls it up to my waist, sets my hands against my sides.

I open my eyes. "Good," he says, the slur somehow gone. He lies on top of me, heavy. Pushing. Hard.

I cringe and look away. His breath is heavy and hot in my face, and I try my hardest not to breathe him in.

This is for the baby. _It's for the baby._

Afterward, he just gets up and leaves. That's it. He's done.

For now.

When I fall asleep, quickly and without dreams, I'm glad. I did it. It's over.

I wake up to the sound of crying—not unusual, but the sound is unusually close. I grab fists of the ratty blanket in my hands. I don't want to hope, but . . . I open my eyes.

_The baby. _

He's so close I could touch him, if only I had the courage to reach out.

He cries and cries and cries.

And for a moment I'm terrified, because the moment that I have that baby in my arms, I know I'm never going to be able to let go.

Somehow, in spite of the fact that I'd carried him in my belly for nine months, in spite of all of times I felt him kick and whispered sweet words of comfort, he had never felt real.

Now he did. Now he felt real.

His cries, so small and fragile, fill the room.

He has his dad's hair, shiny auburn waves that stick up sweetly. His skin is light, like mine. I wonder if he's ever been outside, if he'll ever have a spatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

He stops crying. His gaze meets mine, bluish-gray eyes that I'm sure will turn green.

He makes a soft sound, almost a question. Waves his hands around, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

My baby.

Gently, I reach for him. my fingers brush the soft skin of his arm. He gurgles. Ten fingers. I scoot as close to the mattress and I can without disturbing the ties around my ankles—and then I realize I'm no longer tied up at all. I hesitantly swing my feet over onto the concrete floor. I kneel next to the crate. I coo at him. I smile.

And, finally, I pick him up.

It's the sweetest relief I've ever felt. He's okay. My baby's okay. I hold him to my chest, supporting his head with my hand. "I love you," I whisper.

There's a stack of diapers in the corner of the cramped basement, by the stairs. I slowly make my way over, testing my feet. I haven't stood in two days. I find a box of wipes, too, and grab them and the diaper. I set him down on the mattress, unzip his plain red pajamas, and go to change him.

He's not a he.

_I have a daughter._

* * *

**Sorry for putting the chapter up then taking it down, if anyone noticed. I was having a bit of a baby-naming crisis. No worries, crisis averted.**


	6. Chapter 5

**"I got out of bed today, swear to God I couldn't see my face. I got out of bed today, staring at a ghost . . . I don't need no surgery; take those knives away from me. I just wanna die in my own body. A ghost just needs a home."**

** ~ Wintersleep, 'Weighty Ghost'**

**Chapter 5 – Edward**

Friday comes too soon. I'm not ready. I wake up and I wish I could just go back to sleep, just sleep all day.

I feel sick.

I go to work in a stupor. Charlie sends me a text around noon saying he just arrived in Forks and was at my parents' house. He says he hopes I don't do anything stupid today.

I head straight to my parents' house after work. Everyone should be there by now, and I'd rather get there _before _they have a chance to start talking about me behind my back, unlike last year when I walked into a very loud room that suddenly became very quiet.

My mom rushes forward to give me a hug and a kiss, and my dad follows with a hug of his own. Rose kisses me on the cheek, Emmett pats my back. I greet my niece and nephew, 8 and 9, with kisses on the forehead, before meeting Charlie by the grill out back.

He meets my gaze and claps my shoulder forcefully.

"How's your day been, son?" he asks quietly.

"Only slightly worse than usual," I say.

He watches me closely. Nods. "Sure, son."

"And you?"

"The same as you, I suppose."

I sigh. "I hardly know what to do with myself anymore, Charlie." He takes a long swig of his beer. I try not to look. "I can't sell the house, but I can just barely stand to be inside it. I can't quit my job, but it makes me even more miserable than I would be otherwise."

He nods slowly. "I see." He glances up at me from the burgers and hot dogs on the grill. "You need a shave, son."

I look away. "So I do."

"When's the last time you did something, Edward?"

I give him a look. A warning.

"Edward," he repeats. "Sitting on your ass isn't going to bring her home."

"Neither is going to dinner with some friends or seeing a movie, Charlie."

He gives me the look right back. "And what's gonna happen if she does come home, Edward? And you're a mess? How're you gonna help her if you can't even help yourself?"

I sigh and lean against the wall by the grill. "I don't know, Charlie. I just don't know."

"You need to get it together."

"I _know._"

"I'm serious, son. No matter what happens—good news, bad news—it's gonna kill you. You won't be able to fight if you're . . ." He makes a loose gesture at, well, me. "Like _this._"

I sigh. "I _know_, Charlie."

"When's the last time you saw Alice or Jasper? You were always so close with them."

"Alice's due date was around the same time as—I just can't. It's so hard, Charlie."

"It's not gonna get any easier," he says quietly. "It's not."

He's right, I know. But I've known it for a while.

Dinner is incredibly slow—everyone seems intent on taking their sweet time, and I get stuck sitting right between my mom and Charlie. Great.

Mom is very touchy tonight; she keeps on putting her hand on my shoulder and mussing my hair, things she hasn't done since I was about twelve years old. It doesn't help that they're all drinking, the bastards. Mom and Rose are drinking wine; Charlie, Dad, and Emmett are all drinking beer. I'm itching for just a swig. I'd kill for a smoke, too.

God, this day sucks.

"How's work?" Dad asks me, halfway through the meal.

I shrug. "It's alright. It was supposed to be temporary, but with just me and—well, the rabbits—I can't afford to find a new job. I'm stuck for now."

Dad nods. "Well, if you ever need help finding something, I'm sure I could lend a hand."

I smile at him. "Thanks, Dad. I'll let you know."

I recognize that they're all trying, but it doesn't make it any easier for me to let them in.

"And you, Rose?"

Rose owns a restaurant in town. It was her dad's, but when her dad died just after she graduated college, she took over. It wasn't exactly what she had planned on doing with her law degree, but money had been tight at the time and there weren't many places for a lawyer to find work in a town as small and mundane as Forks.

She smiles at him. "Everything's swell, Carlisle. We've been pretty busy lately." She runs her fingers through her son's hair. "Adam, did you tell Grandpa what you asked me today?"

Adam blushes. "_Mom_," he moaned.

"Adam told me he wanted to come and help out at the restaurant this summer."

Dad smiles. "That true, buddy?"

Adam sighs. "Yeah."

I laugh. "Stop embarrassing the kid, Rose."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Says he who accused my 8 year old of having a boyfriend last month."

"Sammy," I say to my niece. "Were you embarrassed when I asked if you had a boyfriend?"

She looks up from her dish and laughs. "No. I thought it was funny. Daddy got mad though, so Mom said that you were trying to 'rile him up.' Whatever that means."

The entire table bursts into laughter.

"What did I say?" Sammy asks, looking around.

I snort. "Don't worry about it, Sam."

After dinner, the kids invite me over to have movie night with them. I tell them I have work in the morning, pretty early. I should go to sleep, I tell them.

Instead, I leave before they do, drop the car off at my place, and call a cab to take me into town. I head to my favorite bar.

And, of course, I run into Jasper. He invites me to sit with him at the bar; I can't exactly say no.

"What're you doing here, Edward?" he asks me. He takes a long drink from his beer.

I wave down the bartender. "Kamikaze," I say.

Jasper gives me a look. "No, he'll have a water," he tells the guy.

The guy looks at me, and maybe he remembers, maybe he doesn't, but he says, "I'll have a water right out for ya."

"You can't," Jasper tells me.

And here it is, the real reason why I can't hang out with Jasper or Alice anymore. Last year, around this same time, I had a bit of a problem. With alcohol. And the year before that. Two six month benders in the period of two years. To be honest, I'm lucky to still have my job. Charlie came down and lived with me for a while to help out the first time around. The second time around, Jasper and Alice straightened my ass out.

It's not that I was _dependent, _exactly . . . well, let's just say I was a complete and utter mess. And Jasper was the one who cleaned me up. One more bender like that, and I'd be an outright alcoholic.

"You're killing me," I tell Jasper when the bartender comes back with a glass of ice water.

He laughs. "You'll thank me for it."

I roll my eyes, but he's right. I will. I do.

"So it's that time again," he says plainly.

I sigh. "May 17th."

He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. "Wow. Three years."

Jasper isn't the gentlest person in the entire world. It's not that he says things to piss things off, it's just that he knows, somehow, exactly how far he can go without sending someone over the edge. Fact is, him being blunt may have saved my life on more than one occasion.

"Three years," I repeat.

"It's been a while," he says.

"I know. I'm sorry."

He waves me off. "No apology needed. You're goin' through stuff. I understand."

Jasper is also a therapist. No surprises there.

"How's Alice? And the baby?"

"They're both good," he says. "Pains in my ass, but good. Jonathan's talkin' up a storm. How are _you_?"

I shrug. "Relatively miserable."

He nods. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man."

"I appreciate that."

"I'll help you make some flyers again, man. Put them out all over the county. May as well. No good news in three years, but no bad news either."

I look at him. "Thank you, Jazz. I'm sorry I haven't been keeping in touch. Really. Just with what happened with me last year . . . I was embarrassed. And Alice and the baby, it just kind of fucks with me. You understand?"

"I do, man. I do." He claps me on the shoulder and stands. "What time you get off tomorrow?"

"Five."

He nods. "Alright. See you then."

When I get home, I feed the rabbits some fresh greens from the fridge and then collapse in bed. With a glance at the clock, I can now thank god that the day has ended. Finally.

And then the phone rings.

* * *

**Sorry this chapter isn't the longest; I thought about combining this one with the next one, but then it ended up being ****_very _****long, and I also found it strange to combine a Bella with an Edward. Anyway, the next chapter's done and should be up soon. Reviews are appreciated! **


End file.
